


Knuckle Dust & Fraternizing Rust

by Whimzlogo



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Brotherly love/shove, Closure, Gen, Hotel, Kayfabe Compliant, Not exactly angst?, Post-Raw 1/27/20, Post-Royal Rumble 2020, Seth's the Messiah now or summat, Some Humor, There's a corny trope in here, but saying what it is here would spoil it, but y'know, phone conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whimzlogo/pseuds/Whimzlogo
Summary: Roman had an unparalleled knack for making Seth feelsmall— not in a bad way. In the best way possible, considering Seth's stature and status.
Relationships: Roman Reigns & Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Kudos: 15





	Knuckle Dust & Fraternizing Rust

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I hate that Seth's a goon again. He does it well, I'm not denying that. But it undoes all the character development he's ever had and makes no sense, disregarding the way the audience receives him (I mean, I guess you can't realistically disregard what the show wouldn't be there without, but still). 
> 
> That being said, I made a mental note a couple of weeks back that I would be more accepting of Seth as he is now if he _didn't treat Roman like a stranger_ the next time the two of them came into contact with one another, and... at the Royal Rumble, he kind of... did. So I wrote a fallout fic.

His phone vibrated off the nightstand shortly before ten-thirty. He was looking up at the clock on the wall when it did, not sure of where else in the room to put them for the time being; an ice pack pressed against his cheek and jaw; perched on the edge of his bed, relatively _pleased_ with himself, actually. He had a good night.

He drew an amazing number at the Rumble and lost somehow, even with _help_. That was bad. But he had only sought out a number in the match to begin with because he wanted to win two years in a row. Maybe that wasn't the best motivator to stomp down skulls and toss people bodily.

He had had more motivation the previous year than ever before— or since, he would even admit.

In the far-more-pleasant meantime, he could hardly believe his experience with Strowman soured his perception of the Raw Tag Team Titles for so many months, because this... this was friggin' _bliss_ — or damn close to being, at least. Being in the right always felt good. He had more distinct recollections of being less happy with himself for speaking out and telling the truth, because it was usually aimed towards people who were _infinitely_ more mentally and emotionally draining than Kevin Owens was.

This was _nicer_ , he would argue. And Buddy, a born champ, finally getting a shot? About time, first of all. Cherry on top that he was as good as Aleister Black— his mirror incarnate— at his worst, which was pretty damn good, all things considered.

Seth set aside the pack to bend down and pick up the phone. When it was his eyes fell upon the name written across the bottom of the screen, coming to understand who it was exactly he was a swipe away from talking to... he was a _little_ perturbed, sure, but it wasn't like anything could surprise him anymore.

"Hey, man," he said by way of greeting, picking the pack back up, kneading it with his fingertips.

"Rollins. You all right?" Roman immediately asked him, getting right to the point.

"Uhuh," a short laugh, hedged around the side as he pressed the ice pack deeper into his cheek. "Uh. Got... a pack... on my mouth. And nobody's holdin' it for me, so I'm great." When all he got in the way of a response was silence, Seth continued, less tentative, "It feels like I'm seein' stars every week now, interlain on the weekends. _Courtesy_ of people like you."

"That's why I'm here," Roman responded. Seth frowned at the dismissiveness, but the facial expression disappeared when the second part of the statement chimed, "I mean, not _here_ here. I'm here right now to make sure you're not nursing a concussion. It used to be easier to tell."

"Whaddayou care?"

"Don't ask dumb shit." Roman sounded irritated. Rightfully so. Seth wasn't ready to concede with that opinion quite yet, though.

"I'll ask all the questions I want, man. You wanna vent your frustrations with not winnin' the Rumble by brawling me in my hotel room? Only the best for you, bro. Room 414. Come get some."

"Yeah, I knew it was somewhere in that range." Roman did not sound... even a _smidgen_ riled by Seth's invitation. He actually sounded sort of... contemplative?

"Not interested? Huh?"

"You know when to pick a fight and when not to, man," Roman calmly told him. "It's a healthy balance you got going for you already. Owens makin' it out like you never wanna fight was an attempt on your pride, plain and simple." Seth scoffed, loudly, in the lull. Roman never let him cut in, though: "Well, that, and I think he just _really_ wants a fight also."

"I was ridin' high tonight. Wanted ta keep the momentum goin', ya'know?"

"It's all you can do."

"I'll fight. I'll fight anybody." The pain in Seth's jaw flared up again as if agitated by the thoughts in his head, causing him to wince. "And I wasn't lyin' tonight. I don't lie."

"Seth, man, you don't gotta assure me of that. Get outta the zone for a second, all right?" Seth pulled a doubtful face, contorted and blinky. "Seth. Hear me out now, huh? Baby brother?"

Seth always had memories of hating that nickname. Roman was only older than him by a year. But now, with distance being a factor and his life being less about a seemingly endless revolve around two very important people— two brothers (almost in a real-life prophetic sense, the three of them, the Hounds, who stood together, always, at the end of it all)— he found the soft, familial address to be much more welcome. A soothing caress to his brain.

Even when he harbored an unreasonable amount of pure disdain for the nickname, Roman had an unparalleled knack for making Seth feel _small_ — not in a bad way. In the best way possible, considering Seth's stature and status. Maybe it was because Roman's stature and status was on par with his own.

"Yeah, all right." He breathed the words more than he said them.

"All right?" Roman gave pause, but Seth knew he wasn't expected to say anything during it. "So, at the Rumble..."

"Aw, man, you don't gotta apologize."

"I wasn't planning to." Roman's tone was withering. Seth sealed his lips shut and nodded. "It was the Royal Rumble; nothing warrants an apology."

"True."

"It did, actually, feel a lil' bit wrong to _not_ help you when you were surrounded, but... the way you..."

Seth cleared his throat and tucked his arm under the elevated one, forgetting about the pain in his face for a time. The one part of Sunday night he pushed to the back of his mind— because it was over and done with, for obvious starters, but maybe, also... because it wasn't his proudest moment. A sting that even winning the entire match wouldn't have quelled.

Winning the match would have been mere _compensation_ for doing it, at best. Probably not worth the trouble, in hindsight.

"I was... sloppy. Haven't- haven't had help that wasn't you two in so long, you know?" He knew he was telling the truth, but he was surprised to find just how much it felt like an insincere excuse. What _Roman_ thought about it was another matter entirely, Seth was well aware. "I had no intention going into the match of tryin'na ask you to help me. That stomp was s'posed ta be it, all right?"

"Okay." Seth had more to say, but Roman sounded content with _just_ that answer alone. Maybe one honest answer was better than three different blow-softening ones coming in from all angles at once. "That punch was _also_ intended to be it. I was ready to do it, even before..."

"Look," Seth gave his head a quick shake, getting rid of the firsthand recount flashing through; an outstretched arm and a set of bumpable knuckles offered— and ultimately rejected, "we both tried and failed. The fact that we turned our Specials on each other isn't the issue. I mean, wholeheartedly, we can both agree on that, right?"

"Without question," Roman answered.

"I'm just sorry for the one-eighty I pulled on you. That wasn't cool of me. I apologize, pal."

"Wouldn't have called you up tonight if I didn't wanna talk it over. We'll always be good."

They fell into a more comfortable silence after that. Seth slowly reclined across the mattress, taking the ice pack and laying it over the aching side of his face, closing his eyes.

"I think I... wanted to hear you, above all else," Roman went on, tone wistful. "What you had to say, more than anything. Action means more than words do, but words are the motives _behind_ action."

"Right." Seth rolled the pack against his cheek; the thick, dark scruff covering his jaw.

He was _tired_ , sure, but when was the _sleepiness_ going to kick in? He was ready for it.

"You've been talking the same amount, but... _saying_ more, if you catch my meaning."

Seth opened his eyes, darting quick pupils around the ceiling. "It doesn't concern you, Ro. None of it."

"I didn't think it did. But we... used to talk more, together... and everything under the sun was _said_. Maybe part of me wishes we still did that."

Seth forced out a grin, _willing it_ to be from the heart. It slowly became. "Listen, dude, you know you'll always be my number one sounding board, all right? And the services work vice versa, too."

"Then you use me for that, whenever you need to. Okay?"

"Will do." His grin faded into a no-less-present smile. He mopped a hand over his forehead and the ice pack slid off of his face. "Man, it's- it's a damn _shame_ you didn't wanna come over here and fight me. I could really use the tiring out right about now."

Roman sighed into the mouthpiece. "It wasn't that I didn't want to. Quite the opposite. As a matter of fact..."

"'As a matter of fact', what?" asked Seth.

"Well..."

A rousing _thud_ of a noise— two hard surfaces colliding— had Seth sitting up with a start. His eyes flicked to the room door immediately, mouth falling open.

"No. No no." He slowly got off the bed and padded to the door, slower, he was sure, than what was necessary. He looked through the peephole and saw nothing but an empty hall with its standard tan walls and gray carpeting. "Roman, are you—?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

With an uncertain smile, Seth crouched down, and eventually moved his legs out from under himself, sitting fully. He scooted so his back was pressed up against the door, and threw back his arm, knocking gently on the wood. Hard enough to generate a sound that would reach the other side.

His smile reached his eyes when he got an immediate knock back, matching in volume, and at the very same height as his, like Roman was also sitting on the floor, inches from him. No wonder why he couldn't see him through the peephole.

"No, that's creepy. Knock four times if it's really you." His words were hushed, not giving the mysterious presence on the other side the luxury of hearing him through the door.

Four knocks answered. He perked in response to them. 

"Pfff." He tipped his head back, curbing a grin and settling on a closed-mouth smirk that was directed at the lampshade next to the bed. His eyelids felt heavy all of a sudden. Maybe he did have a concussion. "You're crazy."

"I'm not," Roman countered, playfully affronted. Seth felt a coveted mix of both humor and warmth in his chest, knowing his brother was this close.

"We could literally hang up right now and just yell through the wall."

"Must've really changed, then; that'd be inconsiderate as hell to the people on either side of you."

"I was just kidding. Don't try'ta... lecture me." Seth yawned, muffling it into the back of his hand. "Wan'me ta let you in, Big Man? Anyplace I crash, you can also."

"Nah, I'm fine out here."

A few moments more of quiet and then Roman rapped his knuckles on the door again, three times. Seth heard it through the wood as well as the speaker. He more gently, more quietly brought his own knuckles up to the wood, holding them against it— possibly while Roman's were still pressed against the other side, possibly not.

"I should get going," the older said.

"Aw. Already?"

"For your sake, man. You had to work two nights back-to-back. Aren't you exhausted?"

"Now that I know you're here... uh, _no_ , absolutely not."

"Seth Rollins claiming he never lies," Roman said, "explains how he could be a pretty bad liar."

"Get ooouuutta here, man," Seth groused, ever affectionate. He tipped his head down and thunked his forefinger on his bicep, over and over. "I love you. Don't get jumped in the hall on your way back."

Roman hummed. "Was that a threat?" 

He sounded vaguely amused. The question, Seth could tell, was still genuine, though...?

He blanked for a second.

_Why would—?_

_...Oh._

"No no. I meant that in all seriousness." He listened to the far more subdued sound of Roman hitting the door open-palmed— presumably before he took his leave down the hall. "Be safe, Roman."

"Love you, too."

"Bye," Seth replied, quiet.

He hung up, certain, now, of why he was frowning. No matter what the future held, no man would ever be off limits for hating quite like Roman Reigns was for him.

His attention drifted back to the hand he knocked with. The same fist he offered to Roman during the Rumble. It furled back up, nails digging into his palm, the skin over his knuckles stretching taut.

Roman may have offered his continued services as a sounding board... but Seth, presently, didn't value that over concrete, physical support. And that was probably why he couldn't see himself using that _particular_ sounding board for a while. He ran with a new crew now.

And that was how he knew he, undoubtedly, wouldn't be feeling the grounding push of a fist interweaving knuckles with his own for an even _longer_ while.

**Author's Note:**

> The spoiler corny trope is that thing where two people sit on either side of a closed door with their backs to one another, btw. I didn't write what Roman was doing on the other side, but yeah, that was definitely what was happening, I swear it.


End file.
